


Vain Pursuits

by CravenWyvern



Series: DS Extras [58]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Animal Death, Carrats (Don't Starve), Gen, Year of the Carrat, headcanons galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:02:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22429825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: The deal with carrats is that no one expects them to be as important as they turn out to be.Or, there were suddenly a lot of 'rats in camp, and Webber ends up handing one to Maxwell.
Series: DS Extras [58]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/688443
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	Vain Pursuits

**Author's Note:**

> I...could have been working on more important plot oriented fics but unfortunately the 'rats took over.

The carrats were actually quite loud little things.

Maxwell found himself not being all that fond of them.

"Look, Mister Maxwell, that one has red ears!"

Spider limbs twitched and fur bristled up as Webber leaned over the fence, all their eyes wide and taking in the small enclosure, as well as its smaller prisoners.

A few of them were running in circles, squeaking madly as they went.

The particular one the spider child was pointing to had sat up, was busy cleaning itself, and Maxwell glowered at its oblivious, hideous nature. 

The lumpy things were fat heavy vegetables, just barely sentient and rather horrific to look at. Outside of the "moons" aura they somehow looked even more disgusting, fronds of bristly leaves and the bumpy pitted surface of their skin somehow looking smooth and waxy, fleshy faces with molded jaws and jagged teeth.

Not to mention the eyes. Those white bulging things were the worst part, and Maxwell crossed his arms, irritable and internally questioning _why_ these things had been made in the first place.

"And that one has big brown ones!" Webber chirped, chattering spider sound as they stood on tiptoe, pointing again to another horrid sentient carrot, and Maxwell stood there and listened to them as they called out each of the creatures colors, excitedly waving their spider limbs all about. "Ooo, that one is white! That's so cool!"

It's been a few minutes and at this point Maxwell would much rather _not_ waste his time with this and firmly interrupted the child's rambling.

A trait they must have picked up from somewhere, or more likely a certain _someone_.

"Webber, I thought you were supposed to pick one out, not stare at them all. The day is not going to last forever."

"Oh, sorry Mister Maxwell!" Webber looked mildly shocked, looking straight up in the sky for a moment as they tipped away from the fence, and then they twitched all their limbs, shook out their fur, and hopped right over the wooden structure.

Painted white, by Higgsbury himself. With a little help from the lumberjack of course, but otherwise rather ironic, at least to Maxwell.

_They really were settling down, weren't they?_

Shaking his head at the thought, Maxwell strode over to the fence, had a look over to watch Webber race around with their claws outstretched, trying to nab any stray carrat. He still didn't know why the others were even putting in the effort for all this.

Were they that bored, perhaps? Harsh survival was never meant to be _boring_ , but…

"We got one, Mister Maxwell, we got one!"

Webber stood triumphantly holding a wiggling sentient root vegetable, its bulging white eyes blown even wider than usual as it squeaked and chirped, little claws scraping uselessly at the child's spider paws. It was the red one, apparently, fronds of pale almost pink as it shook its head back and forth, and Webber brought it over with a spidery grin, near hopping in their excitement.

The 'rat looked quite distressed, Maxwell mused as Webber manhandled it a bit, climbing the fence and jumping down a bit roughly. He shouldn't care, and he certainly didn't, but…

It would be better if the child knew how to properly handle one, at the very least.

"Webber dear, if you allow me…"

Webber tilted their head, chirping quiet, but allowed him to take the carrat from their grasp, carefully bundling the struggling thing to hold it more properly. It was a bit bigger than the rabbits of the Constant, deformed and lumpy and rather revolting, but it's bugging eyes had the same qualities of his more favored rodents and its little hands were similar to the catcoons, grabbing and clinging as he adjusted it.

He's never been much of a rat fan, as rabbits were far more useful. He supposed Charlie would know more about them; after all, she favored lizards and such reptiles, used to mention her interest of getting a _snake_ of all things for the show from time to time, and he may know near nothing about scaly creatures but he was sure they ate rats.

Or at least any small fuzzy thing that was laying around. Maxwell did not know snakes and lizards very well.

But, rats should be similar enough to rabbits, and in his arms the red frond carrat calmed down significantly, jagged mouth sliding shut and not making even a peep of protest.

"Wow, Mister Maxwell!" Webber got up close, leaning their head and blinking all their eyes in pairs as they near looked the 'rat face to face now, their limbs twitching and wiggling as they gave it a spider grin. "They're so wiggly and hard to hold! How'd you do that?"

"Small things do not like having the ground go out from under them." Maxwell looked down at the 'rat itself, so much larger than the rabbits he was used to, it's weight was starting to wear on him, so with that he shifted and half gestured to Webber that he wished to hand it back. "Here, fold your arms a bit - yes, like that - and keep it close, firm as to give it a sense of protection."

Webber had a more difficult time, which did cause the 'rat to scrape its jaws together for an odd grumpy growl of sound, but otherwise after a moment of fumbling the carrat was in the kids hands and Maxwell was free to take a step back and dust off his suit jacket. The sentient vegetable was not really all that dirty, but it was near automatic to do so anyway, adjusting himself once more.

Webber stared down at the much calmer 'rat, all their eyes wide and blinking slow in pairs, and the creatures little hands clung to their fur, certainly looking a bit more content.

One of the few things Maxwell was particularly grateful for with the Constant was the fact that creatures, when not human aggressive, were quite passive. Catching them might be difficult, but once held most small creatures, even bees and mosquitoes, were easy to handle.

"...Alternatively, you could also just cover its head, or just bag it altogether."

"Like what Miss Winona did?"

Maxwell nodded, folded his arms once more as he glanced back to the fencing in all its blinding white glory.

"I'm surprised none of them died on the trip back, stuffed into one bag with each other. Not even a single injury either."

"Maybe they lived together!" Webber chirped, twittering in the deep of their spider throat as they raised a claw and carefully scratched the top of the carrats head, still keeping it close and held up. 

"I highly doubt it. She found them scattered about that islands surface, and there are no burrows on the "moon"." Maxwell heaved a sigh, looked upwards to have a guess at the time of day before he swung around on his heel, a small wave back to Webber. "I suppose you will be going off to show the others your pick?"

The high pitched spidery whistle was answering enough, Webber catching up to him in a trotting pace, keeping the calmed carrat cradled close. They wiggled all their limbs, looked exceedingly pleased, or more accurately, happy with their new pet, and Maxwell only gave them a passing glance before looking away with an internal sigh.

He could be doing other things right now, instead of babysitting. Many, many other things…

…Maxwell walked with Webber trotting along beside him, accompanying them back to camp and its minor chaos of chatter and sounds of working, the usual tinkering and arguments, built up constructions and projects and even set in stone walls, gates half finished and in progress. The new carrot housing was only a few minutes away, to keep the squeaking interruptions to a minimum, and was a new fixture.

Along with what he could only assume to be the groups new packaged project, wood and rock and wiring set aside in big bundles nearby the entrance of the camp, draped over with cloth. They haven't set up the starting nor finishing line as of yet, though from the talking inside it sounded like it was near done, a few last minute extras.

Heaving another sigh, this time external, Maxwell's face fell into a deeper defeated frown.

'Rat racing, of all things to do with their time and energy.

But, sometimes it sure did feel as if there was nothing else left to do, didn't it?

A brief tug on his sleeve caught his attention and Maxwell glanced over to see Webbers multiple bleach white eyes looking up at him. Even the bulging blankness of the carrat was raised, a near curious tilt to its ugly head and twitch of its crooked whiskers.

"Do you want to do the racing too, Mister Maxwell?"

They sounded genuine, twittering in their throat as they held their 'rat firm and close, but Maxwell brushed them off with a huff and straightening of his back, rolling his shoulders as he started to slowly lead them into camp.

"No thank you, Webber. I will just be watching on the sidelines."

Webber chirped, a hum of distracted acknowledgement, before a shout from nearby called their attention over, that engineer having caught sight of them and their carrat. Off they skittered, new pet bundled close before they started chattering excitedly to Winona, and Maxwell turned away after a moment with a shake of his head.

That woman was an enigma at times. He may know near every other survivor a bit _too_ well from his time on the Throne, but he knew nothing of Winona besides what she has chosen to share.

And he had not expected her to lug back a pack full of 'rats from her lone expedition to the "moon". Besides Wigfrid the woman was one of the few largely unperturbed by the cloying crystal aura of that cursed island, and she made use of her seemingly strong mental strength into gathering what she wished and taking it all back here.

Which included a bunch of repulsive carrats. Maxwell had not pegged her to be an animal lover, or even carer, but she seemed to have a lot of fondness for them.

Perhaps, much like many of the creatures of his Constant, the 'rats were an in-joke, an irony now only shared between the Queen and her sister. If so, he was surely out of the loop.

Higgsbury was nearby, fiddling with something, blocky looking batteries it looked like, but the short man was looking over to where Webber excitedly showed off their carrat, still careful with how they held it thankfully. He looked surprisingly content at the moment.

Maxwell curled his lip, frowning even more as he made to pass by, beelining to his tent and hopefully the calming whispers of the Codex, but the other man took notice of him early.

"...What's got you in such a foul mood?"

His plain curiosity struck at Maxwells already irritable nerves, and all he wanted now was to get out of sight.

Damn their horrid little carrats, and damn their bloody little race. The Constant was never meant to house such, such _frivolities_ , and it grated on him in a way he couldn't quite recognize nor understand clearly.

"It's none of your business, Higgsbury." Snapping at the man was uncalled for, he hadn't even done anything as of yet, but that didn't matter. Whatever calm he had been feeling while talking with Webber had evaporated with only a few misplaced thoughts, and the nagging memories of Charlie were getting a bit too much for him right now.

These sudden mood changes were bothersome, but at the moment Maxwell didn't care to think of it. 

"...Well, alright then…" 

There was a bit of stunted surprise in there, but Maxwell had fled to the tent and, with the flap door closing off the outside world and the light darkened significantly, he could already feel the irrational irritability start to drain, heaving a strained exhale.

The Codex whispered to itself in his set aside book bag, and with that Maxwell busied himself with it instead of thinking about 'rats and "moons" and the age old worn memories of his terrible shows and ever wonderfully remembered Charlie.

***

"Mister Maxwell, Mister Maxwell!"

The Shadow Manipulator startled at the sudden loudness, shadows snaking back as Maxwell turned his mind away from its focus and instead to the spider child currently running over to him. Their limbs were raised, twitching as they held something in their claws and twittered up a storm of a spider tune, skidding to a halt next to him.

Before he could even greet them properly they sucked in a deep breath, panting a bit from the run as they held what they had out to him, blinking all their eyes in synced pairs as they chirped.

"Mister Maxwell, we found the perfect carrat for you!"

Maxwell blinked, caught off guard as he stared at the 'rat in Webbers claws. It seemed just as startled, bulging white eyes and pale fronds sticking straight up, crooked whiskers twitching a bit. 

It was just as repulsive looking as every other carrat in camp right now, if just a bit lighter colored in the grass ears and tail. 

"I am not at all interested in those races-"

"We know!" Webber chirped cheerfully, chitinous face twisted in a spider smile, and they dropped down the carrat a bit, carefully adjusting to hold the sentient vegetable in the stable way Maxwell had shown the child just days ago. "But now everyone has a carrat except you, so we picked just the one to give you!"

The 'rat itself twitched its whiskers, sniffed idly at Webbers furry bristles as it clung to them tight, and Maxwell frowned at it before turning that frown instead upon Webber.

"I am not particularly fond of these creatures, Webber. I never wanted one in the first place."

His words for a second seemed to deflate the spider childs cheerfulness, limbs drooping down, before their fur puffed up and their mandibles and extra limbs rose right back up, a determined shine rising in the multitude of their white eyes, rocking the carrat in their excited hopping.

"But Mister Maxwell, everyone has one! And its all alone now when the others go, stuck in one spot aaaall day and it's got nothing to doooo and-"

"Alright alright, fine!" He held out his hands, let Webber hand over the carrat, and he certainly didn't want the blasted thing and was more likely to go dump it off in the wilderness but Webber was being especially insistent and annoying, enough so to cause Maxwell to take the offering as it was. "All the others choose their pick and I get the dredges, I get it!"

Webber chittered at that, Maxwell too late catching that he hadn't filtered his language or tone, near yelling actually, but the only thing the spider child did was puff up, bristles rising as they shook themself out, taking a quick step back.

It was hard to read the kids spider expression at the best of times, and now that hard lump of feeling graced him as Maxwell adjusted the carrats clinging grip in his arms, a moment of silence before he cleared his throat.

"...I do apologize, Webber. Er…" He gave the 'rat a quick glance, pausing to see it was staring up at him, pale fronds draped low and near wilted atop its pocket marked orange skin, before he turned his attention back to the spider child.

Who looked a little more closed off, claws fumbling together and limbs drawn close.

Damn him and damn the fact that he felt bad.

"...Thank you, Webber, for the gift." That didn't seem to really ease up those bristles, so Maxwell dug through his mind to try and think up something else. "While I did not plan to own any of these creatures, it is the thought that counts, isn't it?"

Webber probably knew that saying more than anything else, especially since a few of the others were fond of those words, so when their limbs rose and they blinked all their eyes up at him in sync Maxwell guessed that what he had said was a good enough apology.

The carrat wiggled in his grip, shifting itself as he looked back down at it, and the things little clawed hands kneaded at his sleeves, tucking itself down almost comfortably. Unlike so many of the other 'rats he's had to deal with now throughout camp, especially when he had to chase a certain scientists pet 'rat out of the tent when he had caught it nibbling on the Codex, this one was not near as heavy, nor as vibrantly colored.

More like that annoying one Higgsbury loved so much actually, that pale pastel green, but the 'rat in Maxwell's arms had spikier fronds and almost cream coloring, not near so rounded or similarly to a succulents.

"...What're you gonna name it, Mister Maxwell?"

Webber had shuffled up closer, peering down at the carrat itself, and their lilting, twittering voice wasn't quite enough to dispel that annoying guilt but it at the very least assured him that his mistake was being swept aside.

"I am...not particularly good at names." Maxwell stared at the sentient vegetable; it had gone quite quiet, and only moved minutely with its every breath, sniffing idly at his suit jacket. "What did you end up naming yours, if I may ask?"

"We told you yesterday Mister Maxwell!" Webber twittered, spidery laughter as they raised a claw to pat the relaxing carrats head. "Pomy, cause she likes pomegranates a whole lot!"

Maxwell nodded, watching as the 'rat raised its snaggle toothed snout and brushed its whiskers over Webbers claws, making them chirp a spidery giggle. The carrat's little hands clung to his sleeve, tight as it sniffed at Webber, before the fronds of its tail wiggled and it tucked down again, leafy ears flicking. 

It was a particularly ugly specimen, wasn't it? 

Webber may not have meant it in a bad way, but he mostly certainly had been handed the 'rat the others had taken one look at and immediately declined. He supposed, from their point of view, he should be grateful he had gotten something at all in the first place.

And, well, Webber had been the one to hand it over.

Heaving a sigh, only marginally disturbing the carrat into twitching its ears, Maxwell resigned himself to now owning this horrid little thing.

"I will need time to think of a name, Webber, and perhaps a few suggestions later on."

"Okay, Mister Maxwell!" Webber patted the carrat on its back, Maxwells earlier outburst forgiven and forgotten, and then they hopped back, spidery limbs waving as they twittered and clicked out noise. "We gotta go check on Pomy, but if you need any help you should ask Miss Winona! She knows lots about carrats!"

Maxwell had to stop himself from rolling his eyes, biting off another sigh at those words. Of course Winona knew a lot about these horrible sentient vegetable abominations.

Her sister had created them, after all.

Instead he gave them a defeated nod, shifting his grip on the 'rat to give the spider child a short wave goodbye as Webber darted off through the camp, disappearing behind tents and then visibly hopping a white wooden fence.

Those were starting to become more prevalent now, weren't they? The others must have a fondness for the completely ordinary look of civilized living, and now the camp itself was changing with those interests.

Finally heaving that sigh, grinding his teeth for a moment as the frustration seeped out, Maxwell turned is gaze down to the carat in his arms.

It looked back up at him, somehow looking quite cozy as it blinked its large bulging white eyes, little ratty fingers clinging to his sleeves tight, the faintest twitch of its whiskers and flop of its wilted frond ears.

"Well, what are you looking at?"

The 'rat, as expected, did not reply, and letting out that heavy exhale Maxwell shook his head.

The bored have to amuse themselves somehow, don't they? 

And what to do with a carrat but race it?

***

He found the woman banging on one of the new checkpoints, straightening out the bent metal and hammering in the lost nails. The recent wandering hound pack had gotten to the race course, ravaged it in their canine play, and now it was being fixed all back up again.

As if they didn't have the rest of the base to finish, but then again the hounds hadn't been able to get through the stone walls and high fences. Those white painted things had actually come in handy for once.

She didn't seem to notice him at first, preoccupied as she carefully examined the metal rods and then fiddled with the wires connecting the lights and large buttons, before Maxwell finally got tired of waiting and cleared his throat.

"Excuse me, Winona."

The woman lifted her head, looked around before seeing him, and then with a hup she was up, wiping the sweat from her brow before tying her hair back up with her bandana as she gave him a curious, completely friendly look.

Out of all of the survivors, she was one of those he has unintentionally personally offended in the past. Also out of all of them, she was somehow without a grudge.

"Heya Max, what's up?"

So naturally Maxwell let the shortening of his name slide. Having an actual ally for once, no strings attached, was not what he was used to at all and he'd rather not lose that with some ill said words.

"I have been referred to you, on account of you knowing near everything about these-" He searched for a word that would be least badly taken, settling on the most basic, "-vegetables."

With that he held out the carrat he was holding in his hands.

It lay there, limb and passive, belly cradled firmly and pale fronds draped like wilting weeds along his gloves and sleeves, and if not for its twitching nose and swishing crooked whiskers if may have been easy to mistake it for dead.

Winona leaned over to have a look, hands on her hips as her face took on an expression of deep thought, the pout of her lips and drawing down of wrinkles of her forehead, the squint of her eyes almost _too_ reminiscent of Charlie-

Maxwell shoved such thoughts away, a minor snarl settling in his face as his eyes turned to the carrat instead, glowering as it rose up its head slowly and sniffed at the air, in the general direction of Winona's face. Its little claws were hooked to him, clinging, but otherwise the repulsive thing was quite limp in his grip.

Limp and useless, Maxwell thought to himself, irritated and a bit drawn thin with stress.

'Rat racing really wasn't his thing in the first place, but that first time around had really set his discomfort in stone. Perhaps if he had a more positive experience he'd grow to like it, but the gambling on the sidelines was much more amusing.

The automaton was particularly good at making predictions, even with two 'rats upping their odds, but it came with a price the others gambled even more so for. Thus the strongman was who made the betting entertaining, laughing whether he won or lost, faithfully enforcing the placed bets and doing a good job at it with his much too large carrat backing him up, and the mime was very, very good at being judge over the gambling in the first place, taking names and numbers as his spindly 'rat perched on his shoulders, as well as being the one to signal which one got to the finish line first.

The old woman, her carrat somehow the most competitive of the lot, was not pleased with this new system of "fun", but she did not ruin it for them besides making sure they did not include the children's racers.

If sometimes those children won and someone handed off the gambled prizes to them undercover then that was not anyone's business. No snitching to Wickerbottom, that was for sure.

"Huh, you don't look all that good do ya, little buddy?" Winona reached out, carefully pat the carrat on its head. 

He felt it tense up, the slightest flinch before the sentient vegetable relaxed, as if it hadn't expected the contact. Its little heart beat quick, fast against his palms where its chest was laying on him, and it was suddenly taking all Maxwell had to not pull it back and try to figure out what was wrong, why did it look ill, why had it suddenly become so lethargic-

"May I?"

Winona held out her hands, eyebrow raised in her question, and it didn't sit well on him but Maxwell let the carrat slide down into her palms, only the slightest of a struggle, a huffy squeak of a protest before it quieted down once more.

"Didn't you race it yesterday for the first time? It was just fine then, right?"

"Yes, if you call losing terribly fine." Maxwell clasped his hands together, needing something to distract himself as the woman held up the 'rat, looking it over critically. "That bloody gong near startled it to death, but it had eventually crossed the finish line."

If his voice was a bit bitter it was due to him being, in fact, quite bitter. He had bet on himself winning, he should win, this damn carrat seemed smart enough to understand when he was speaking to it so going from point A to point B should be a piece of cake, but the others had much more… _refined_ 'rat specimens. Even Higgsbury's had done better than him, leaving him last place!

And that had taken a long while to wait out, shouting in ever more increasing frustration as his pale carrat wandered around, tripping on its own legs and finally just barely grazing the finish line and ending the torture. 

And then Wolfgang added insult to injury by commenting that, perhaps, something was dreadfully wrong with his carrat.

Maxwell had not considered it at first, scooped up the dazed lethargic creature and stormed away, but as the day had ended and a new one begun it was becoming more and more evident that something was off…

Winona eyed the 'rat critically, brushed a hand flat to its back, examined its pale fronds and then eyes, even going so far as to jostle open its jagged mouth to have a look inside. 

The carrat barely seemed bothered.

The expression on her face seemed to be falling more and more, before she suddenly held the carrat out, balanced in one hand as she snapped her fingers right next to its frond ears.

The fact it startled Maxwell himself did not go unnoticed, but Winona only gave him a quick glance before her eyes went right back to the 'rat.

Whom had only just barely twitched.

She did it again to its other ear, this time Maxwell more prepared as he watched it actually react, give a little head shake as its clawed fingers gripped to Winonas thick work gloves, wilted fronds slapping about almost pitifully.

As she examined its bulging eyes, squinting as she gently poked at its saggy orange face, Maxwell voiced a growing question, not quite comfortable just standing there in the silence.

"...I had not quite expected you to know any veterinary practices, or to even care so much for such vermin."

Winona's eyes flashed at him, still looking distracted and in thought, but she cleared her throat as she drew a hand close to the carrats face, its blank eyes bulged and empty of near anything and everything. 

"Used to have a pet rat when I was a kid." She tilted her head at the 'rat, clicked her tongue as she flicked her fingers near its large eyes and got no reaction, not even so much as a flinch away. "My sis was supposed to take care of it, but neither of us were all that good with animals so I learned what I had to."

The carrat only gave a small grunting growl as she took its head in her fingers, jostling it a bit as those whiskers puffed and those claws finally scraped up to claw at her thick gloves, but letting it go only had it shaking its head a few good times, as if trying to shake something loose, or perhaps into place.

"And I suppose it lived a long and happy life under your care?"

"Naw, it got out and ate the poison our parents had under the sink. Not really anything 10 year old me could do for the sorry bugger then." With that Winona heaved a sigh, exhaling heavy between her teeth as she gave the 'rat a last look, brows drawn low, before she looked at him and gestured for him to take the carrat back.

Cradling it with far more gentleness than was usual, and possibly expected due to the woman's arching curious brow, Maxwell brushed a gloved hand to its snout to let it have a sniff, a familiarity he knew from rabbits that he had inadvertently adopted with the horrid little creature. Not meeting her eye was a choice for a good few more seconds; judging from her face Maxwell was fairly certain he wasn't in for any good news.

"You said it was good before the race, right? How about after?"

"That was when this...behavior started." 

Winona tapped her chin, still thinking hard, before she gave him a nod and a more sympathetic look, almost a grimace really as she finally decided to break the news.

"Sorry Max, but I think your 'rat's gone deaf and blind."

That...wasn't what he had been expecting, and it wasn't quite a question out of his mouth but it was close enough.

"...What."

"Don't know if it was the gong, maybe I needta check it out a bit since it is a bit loud, but it coulda been genetics or just a plain stroke. Either way, that thing ain't racing anytime soon."

"...Ah."

Maxwell looked back down at the carrat, who was currently snuggled up close to his suit jacket and had its horrible bulging eyes closed, breathing quiet. It seemed to be largely undisturbed by this news.

"It might have a bit of hearing still, seemed to react more on its right side, but otherwise it's definitely pretty damn blind. Those whiskers will get it around good enough, though like I said, no racing for the little guy." She seemed sympathetic, but Winona wasn't really an animal person. Everyone knew that pretty well. "...You want a new one? I can go out and catch a few, dispose of this fella-"

"No!" 

That surprised the both of them, Maxwell stiffening up as he held the carrat close, freezing as Winona blinked at him with a rather shocked expression. 

He hadn't meant for that to come out so violently, and it took a second of quick thinking to rectify the situation before any _unnecessary_ questions rose up.

"I mean, it is a perfectly acceptable 'rat, as repulsive as it is." The carrat shifted itself in his arms, blinking slow before giving a sharp snaggle toothed yawn and tiny exhale of a squeak, to which Maxwell had a difficult time not reacting to in an embarrassing manner. "And I was never interested in those useless races in the first place, so there is no reason to replace it."

Just the thought made something in his chest knot up, discomfort at the idea, but he was schooled enough to not let that deter a frown to set on his face instead.

The carrat, for all his efforts, just sat there and looked exceedingly horrid, in all its very, very _not cute_ mannerisms.

"I mean, if that's what you want, then okay." Winona scratched her head, still looking faintly surprised at this information and somehow unfazed by his words, and for a moment in the ensuing silence he turned his gaze to the 'rat and wondered if it even had the faintest clue of what he was doing for it.

Then there was a sudden squeak nearby, fast little chittering, and the both of them turned to look over to the half repaired checkpoint and the sudden appearance of a rather bright orange carrat atop its dented metal pole. The friz of dark green fronds on its head were puffed up, empty eyes wide and somehow looking directly at the 'rat in Maxwell arms, and it bared its snaggled teeth, chattering even more as it stood on its hind legs, leaning and puffing up its tail.

It looked quite the sight, actually.

"No Rosie, this fella's not a racer. Not anymore anyway."

Winona waved her hand, the carrat tilting its head before growling low, leaning side to side, but it did quiet at her words, relaxing more fully on its rump as its tufts of green tail fronds fell. Its ears kept up, a hint of curling leaves as they twitched, and it somehow gave Maxwell the impression of watching him very, very carefully.

"...Rosie is an odd name for a deformed sentient vegetable."

Winona huffed an amused laugh out, shaking her head a moment as she spoke, not at all offended. 

"No no, watch this." She went over to the carrat, who just looked up at her with empty blank eyes, and as she crouched down the woman pulled out something from her pocket, a small bit of colorful red fabric. "I got this from Wes, but only Wickerbottom really recognized it."

She fiddled for a moment, then stood up and turning to Maxwell, holding the carrat out in one hand, the creature balancing carefully in her palm as she flexed her free arm, a grin spreading on her face.

The 'rat, glancing once at its owner, gave a little squeak and seemed to try and imitate her, little claws waving in an odd looking flex. The makeshift bandana wrapping its ears up to poke out on top gave it a near comical, bizarre look.

Maxwell couldn't help the bewildered expression from crossing his face, blinking at the odd image.

"...Damn, thought someone else would know it." Winona relaxed her arm as she shook her head, grin still on her face but a little wilted looking now. Her carrat squeaked at her before skittering up her arm, large and ungangly but balancing just fine as it perched itself to her shoulder, chattering quietly as Winona continued talking. "I keep forgettin' that some of you guys are real damn old."

"I am not that old." Maxwell puffed up, offended at that choice of words, and if he was lying a bit it was not something he'd admit anytime soon.

But Winona waved a hand, brushed aside his minute anger.

"Naw, I don't mean age, just eras and all that. Some of you guys just really are not up to date is all."

Well, that explained it a bit. Maxwell knew perfectly well that the Constants pattern of time was nowhere near the same as in the world every human survivor had originated from.

There was a hint of shifting in his arms, glancing down to see his carrat sniffing at his sleeves, crooked whiskers brushing over as it poked at his chest with its snout, blank eyes wide and, now, somehow glassier than usual, before seeming to reassure itself and tucking itself back into a comfortable position, kneading its claws into his sleeves. He can feel the slight vibrating buzz as it grinded its jagged teeth, pausing and then starting again, content.

Another one of those things he was more familiar seeing coming from rabbits, actually. 

"So…" Looking back up showed that Winona had went back to work, crouching down as her carrat stayed on her back, staring him down with its odd little bandana still stuck in place. "I heard that you like rodents."

It was an odd conversation start, especially since he had just heard that the carrat dozing in his arms was actually disabled, but it...wasn't like there was anything else Maxwell was up to today. He had time, and perhaps a bit of neutral, almost friendly talk will keep his mind off other things.

And he'd rather not venture into camp right now, surrounded by all the other survivors and their insistently continual arguing and yelling and chatter. People were loud beings, louder than carrats, louder than bunnys, and sometimes Maxwell just wanted a bit of peace and quiet.

"Rabbits, actually. I know them more than rats, or, er, carrats."

"Carrats are pretty easy to figure out, Max. Just imagine a carrot that was suddenly a rat and you're good."

Maxwell had no idea if she was joking or not, as Winona was still focused on the checkpoint, tying up loose wires and fiddling with the broken glass bulbs, so all he did was give a nonconfirming hum of an answer.

The carrat in his arms snuggled against him, wiggled as to get more comfortable, and after a moment of Maxwell having a quick look around and not finding even a single decent spot to sit he heaved a near silent sigh and sat down in the dry grass and weeds, the semi dusty earth for the racing grounds. The 'rat was more appreciative of the lap space, and Maxwell was feeling accommodating at the moment as Winona spoke up once more.

"My sis sent a letter mentioning you having rabbits, for the shows or something."

"Once upon a time, yes." 

He knew Charlie had sent letters, many of them actually, but he had the common courtesy to not ask about reading them. It was the same if he got anything from his brother; she'd hand them over, unopened, and not ask questions when he'd later tear them up in a rage or throw them into the fire.

His brother had always been particularly good at both getting on his nerves, and shifting the blame. 

As well as just in general being an ass. Most of Maxwell's letters did not even have the correct name addressed on them, and he was still deeply offended by that slight.

...He did wonder how Jack was holding up, but not often. Living in the Constant required learning how to not live in another world's past, after all.

And he was very aware that his brother was long, long past.

"Whatever happened to them? You pull them in here with my sis?"

There wasn't any bitterness or grudging in her voice, not that Maxwell could read, but it still pricked guilt to rise and he turned his gaze down to the dozing carrat, wondering vaguely if he should excuse himself. 

The 'rat shifted, blinked its eyes open then closed, poking his arm with its snout before Maxwell heaved a silent sigh and ran a gloved hand down its lumpy back, the faint pale fronds of its tail, and it was enough of a distraction to continue.

"They were gone long before then."

"Why's that?" Winona looked over at him, not an ounce of hostility in her voice or face, just plain neutral curiosity. 

It was almost, what, companionable? To be around someone who, for one reason or another, did not hold him under any bias.

It was the only reason he always found himself being more open with her. Winona knew things involving his past the others may never even attempt to guess, and it was sometimes refreshing to talk without feeling as if he was hiding something all the damn time.

Still, his next words did cause him to grimace, faded memory rising up, full of holes and foggy shadow but still just unfortunately enough.

"There is an exchange when it comes to the shadows, no matter the parlor tricks used. Sacrifices had to be made, especially to Them."

There was silence for a moment, his words digested in the air as Winona blinked.

"...Ya know what, maybe I shouldn't have asked." Her expression didn't change much, but Winona's eyebrows tilted and gave her a slight saddened look, a misplaced uncertain grief, and she shook her head as she went back to the checkpoint, this time using a much smaller hammer and tapping a few of the pulled metal tears into place once more. The carrat on her shoulder and back had relaxed down on its belly, watching him still, the tenseness hidden as it stayed alert.

What an odd thing, to know a living sentient vegetable did not trust him. It was certainly a first.

His own carrat poked at him with its snout, again getting him to brush its back, carefully pet through its pale wilted frond ears and its tail, its pocket marked ugly skin, and its little claws kneaded his suit jacket and clung on firm, bulging eyes closed up and looking somehow content in his lap. The low purring grind of its teeth was familiar, in an oddly nostalgic, saddened way, but his environment was too different to recall any memories.

The rabbits were long gone, only the skittish creations of the Constant left now, and of course these repulsive living carrots.

Maxwell pet his dozing 'rat as Winona continued working, not a hint of displeasure at his quiet company as her own carrat watched him from its perch, and the odd peace and quiet was well appreciated.

***

Camp seemed actually calm for once. The low hum of conversation was hushed, quiet as the sun started setting in a downward crimson fall, and Maxwell stood there for a moment and let the quiet be.

Unfortunately, he didn't think he had the time to spare. Not anymore at any rate.

Organizing himself, a quick last minute check as to make sure he was presentable, carefully cradling the limp weight in his arms, Maxwell approached the crackling fire pit and announced himself with a rough clearing of his throat.

It didn't sound near as impressively interrupting as he had wished, but he had more pressing matters to attend to.

"Ah, hello Mr. Carter."

"Oh yay, the grumpy old fart's here."

"Willow, hush."

The younger woman pouted, crooked lips pulled in a more hidden amused look, her legs splayed out in the fire and skirt hitched up as to prevent catching from the embers, and the old woman sitting primly upon one of the wooden benches, a finer one and less crooked than the early days, adjusted her glasses as she peered over to him.

They were not the only ones milling about, and their greetings caught the other's attention.

"Huh, you've been gone for a few days, haven't ya Max?" Winona was sitting nearby, tinkering with a near fully deconstructed lantern, and then Webber pipped up beside her, spider limbs waving all about, holding different tools and metal bits.

"Nothing's happened here Mister Maxwell, so don't worry about missing anything!"

"An' everyone else's out on a hunt, probably a dumb Varg or snotty sheep." Willow leaned back on her hands, dipping her bare toes in the ash and charcoal of the firepit, flames flickering over her skin. "Though I think, uh, Wendy went to bed early?"

She looked over at Wickerbottom, who gave her a nod and hum in confirmation.

"Yeah, the poor kid's not feeling good, what with the approaching full moon and all." Winona punctuated her words with a few deft twists to some screws on the lantern, before she held the metal tool in her hand out to Webber, who scooped it up with one of their free limbs and handed her a different, smaller one. "What've you been up to out there anyhow?"

The influx of talking, near companionable conversation, while not unappreciated in the far back of his mind, was not what Maxwell was here for.

He's been out, and perhaps it could be called buying time but his trip to the "moon" island had not revealed a single helpful scrap of thought. Only whispering Gestalt and wild carrats running from territorial saladmanders, clicking codes of the long undead tomb spiders, but nothing that could help his...predicament.

Which made itself known with a gargled little yawn, snapping its jagged toothy maw and blinking slowly up at him from his arms, cloudy white eyes empty of even a stray thought.

"I am, er...in need of some assistance, unfortunately." It was near demeaning that he had to come to the rest of them for this, he should be able to figure it out just fine, it was a bloody living vegetable it should be _easy_ , but traveling to that terrible island has worn him thinner than he was already and the 'rat itself was…

"Oh, you've gotten yourself another one of those critters?" Wickerbottom leaned forward in her seat, adjusted her glasses as Maxwell shuffled his way closer to the firepit and the other survivors curious eyes, then her lips pursed as her eyebrows drew down in thought. "Wait, no, you still have your first one?"

"What, really?" Willow turned her head to look at him, the usual half hearted malice having dissipated under plain curiosity as she eyed the carrat in his arms. "Man, it's been a bit since I saw one of those things."

The carrat itself blinked, looking out into the space of the approaching fall night, little clawed hands clinging tight to him as he held it carefully. He had to be much, much more gentle with it than usual; its pale fronds were shedding and too fragile, and the lethargy he had been seeing had only gotten worse the more days that passed, the 'rat sleeping most of the time and not much else.

It was actually only a few days ago that its health had seemed to really start to go downhill. Maxwell, at the time, was fairly certain he'd have that issue fixed in no time.

Except now it rasped and wheezed and seemed unable to move most of its limbs in a coordinated fashion. 

He'd not verbally admit he was worried, but….Maxwell _was_ very worried.

Movement drew his attention back, up to watch as Winona set aside the half finished lantern and stood up in one heave, swiping the dust from her thick clothes before she ambled her way over. The carrats whiskers twitched, rose a bit, but the little creature just heaved a sigh and settled back, unperturbed as the woman raised a hand and very, very lightly patted it on the head.

"I believe it has fallen ill, or perhaps is diseased." Maxwell frowned at the 'rat, but even trying to act as if displeased was much too hard at the moment. His words may be cruel, but his voice betrayed him with the worry threading through his chest.

"Well, that might be the case." Winona eyed the carrat, and there was shuffling and tools all piled together as Webber hopped off the bench to join them, clicking in the deep of their throat curiously. "It doesn't look all that good, honestly."

"Looks sleepy." Pipped up Webber, limbs all twitching and waving as they tilted their head, many eyes blinking in synced pairs. "Maybe it's just real tired?"

"It's slept all day." Maxwell may have snarled that out a bit, but his voice was low and the spider child only gave him an odd look. "It doesn't do much _besides_ sleep anyhow."

"That is what they do when they grow old."

Maxwell blinked, blank for a moment before he turned his head to look at Wickerbottom. The old woman had taken off her glasses, was cleaning them with a spider silk woven handkerchief, and looked undisturbed by what she had said.

"What."

"They don't really live all that long, Max." Winona carefully scratched the carrat behind its wilted frond ears, the creature blinking its eyes and for a moment even grinding its teeth in a pur before quieting as she pulled her hand away. "I'm a bit surprised yours is still kicking, since it's been almost a year now."

"And what, all the rest of them are gone?" 

He had meant that to be in a mocking, disbelieving tone, to be taken as such, but Winona gave him a lopsided frown as Willow cackled a halfhearted laugh at his expense, thrusting her hands into the fire and letting the flames curl up to her elbows as she spoke.

"Duh, dummy. Haven't you been paying any attention, like at all? There's not been a living carrat at camp with us since the middle of summer, and it's been a couple a' months."

"I had come under the impression that you had stored them away, stuffed to the side after losing interest. What in the world did the lot of you do to them?" 

If Maxwell sounded rather distressed no one said anything, but Webber did twitch and stare up at him with all those big white eyes and Winona took the opportunity to offer up her previous seat, sweeping away her project onto one of the tables nearby as Maxwell sat down with a barely contained creaking huff. 

The carrat didn't offer up any displeasure at being jostled, eyes closed and breathing only slightly rasped as it settled.

"Well, mine eventually tried to follow me into the fire cause she was kinda dumb." Willow fiddled with her hair, threading glowing embers through her dark pigtails before the chill air of fallen night extinguished them. "Went and sprinkled her ashes into the Dragonflies lava pools, cause she liked hanging out with me there."

Recounting the story seemed to deflate Willow a bit, voice a little sadder now. 

"Taffy was pretty dumb and ugly, but I liked having her around."

"...One of our spider friends got Pomy." Webber chirped up, limbs twitching as they sat next to Maxwell, idly kicking their legs out as they twittered in thought. "We tried to stop it cause they were both our friends, but...the spiders didn't understand."

They whistled a low sound, fading even lower at the end as they clicked and clacked, eyes going a bit downcast.

Maxwell stared at the fire for a moment, watched Willow as she rubbed ash and charcoal over her arms in dark smears, before he looked up at Winona as she leaned against her worktable. He didn't have to voice a question, though the woman gave him a weak smile, looking more guilty than anything else.

"Yeah, Rosie tried to pick a fight with a catcoon when it was fiddling with my stuff." She shrugged, though it didn't have all her usual strength put into it. "She won against the 'coon, but not against her injuries, so that was that."

Webber nodded sadly beside him, before reaching out and running a spider pawed hand down the carrats back, twittering all the while as they pet the dozing 'rat in Maxwells arms. He turned his gaze to the last of the party about the campfire, and Wickerbottom adjusted her glasses once more, soured face somehow a bit softened in sympathy.

"Portia buried herself in the gardens a few months ago, and the flowers and weeds cover her wilted remains." The old woman looked to the carrat in his arms, her expression not at all mean spirited or judging. "The others have lost theirs in similar circumstances. It is quite apparent that these creatures do not live long, dear."

"Wormwood helped us when Pomy died, Mister Maxwell." Webber chirped up, twittering as they pat the sleeping 'rat. "Told us that carrats seed when they die and all, so maybe that can help you if you're feeling sad?"

"Pfff, Taffy didn't seed when she died, just sort of 'poof'ed!" Willow threw her hands up in the air, imitating the burst of flaming sound with her crooked lips, and then a dipping sneer fell on her face. "Beside's, ol' big nose isn't gonna feel sad, kid. He just thinks it's a dumb vegetable-"

"Willow, stop that." Wickerbottom's sharp scolding shut the woman up, and Willow pouted before she leaned forward and dipped her face into the flames, just barely starting to char her clothes in the act. "Mind yourself and don't be rude. Even WX78 cared for their creatures, so I am sure Maxwell worries for his own."

Maxwell himself was barely paying any attention to the conversation at this point, and he hardly would have wanted to in the first place. Instead, he had shifted his arms as the carrat laid in his lap, gloved hand carefully petting its bulbous head, ugly and wrinkled and pockmarked pale orange skin, somehow paler than when he had first arrived here in camp.

The carrat, after a moment of just rasping in and out its breath, opened up its empty blank eyes, blinking a few times. It seemed to be breathing heavier, a little more strained, its crooked, frayed whiskers twitching, dipping a bit. Over time it's lost a few, looking near bald on its ugly snout, and it's wilted frond ears rose just barely before falling back, the slightest wiggle of its pale frond leaf tail as it sniffed idly at his sleeve. Little claws halfheartedly kneaded at his clothes, slow and taking more energy to do so, before it tilted its head and actually seemed to look up at him for a moment, bleach white eyes empty and completely blank, nothing but a cloudy glassy reflection to them, an opposite to his pitch black gaze.

It blinked, once, comfortable in his lap, and then it settled once more, bulbous eyes closing and a last twitch of its whiskers.

Maxwell had no idea what it was that filled his chest, but his first reaction was that he did not like it at all.

The second reaction was to just sit and suffer through it in silence.

"Um, Mister Maxwell…" 

Webber twittered, limbs and mandibles twitching and rising, falling, their fur puffing up as a spidery expression spread on their arachnid face, all their eyes blinking in synchronized pairs. They held their claws close to their chest, uncertain, maybe even a bit nervous.

Maxwell finally heaved a sigh, chest feeling bottled up and chained in place, and if his own exhale wheezed a bit he did not notice nor care to notice.

"I know, Webber, I know."

There was a spot of silence at that, no more of those tiny little rasping squeaks, before there was movement about him. Not enough for him to think looking up was in his best interest, staring blankly down at the now much limper weight in his lap, but a heavy hand on his shoulder did wake him up from the muffling of it all.

"Hey, it's alright." Winona stared at him, that friendly sympathy and all too familiar aura surrounding her enough for him to not meet her eyes, a slow sliding snarl falling on his face, before Webber suddenly pipped up, hopping off the bench in one smooth spring and waving their spidery limbs.

"We'll go get Wormwood, okay Mister Maxwell?" 

They hardly waited for a confirmation, darting off into the darkness of night, the soft glow of their spider eyes taking a few more seconds to disappear. Maxwell stared after them for a moment, feeling rather oddly blank and empty, before there were footsteps and he turned his gaze to see Wickerbottom standing there, leaning on her cane as she peered down at him, then to the weight on his lap.

"Dear, I am sorry for your loss. It never feels good when one's pet passes." She adjusted her glasses, the wrinkles of her face pulled down and sagging low as she continued. "But, it is a fact of life, and the way things are."

That sparked something in his chest, something that made him curl his hands into fists and tone darken.

Just outside of the fires radius, lit up by the flames and Willows shadow silhouette, those ugly white fences still stood strong, mocking gates holding the world at bay.

"Not for us it isn't."

That made the old woman pause, taken aback for a moment, before she gave him a stiff nod, frown spreading over her face as her eyes turned downcast.

"...You are not wrong." 

With that Wickerbottom limped her way back to her spot, weight heavy on her cane with every step. There was the sound of clearing the throat, Maxwell glancing to his side to watch Winona as she settled down in the spot next to him, hand still on his shoulder, still that sympathetic look on her face.

"Well, at least it's not suffering anymore, yeah?"

She was trying to ease the situation, trying to help, but Maxwell was already aggravated enough and was having none of it.

"It was deaf, blind, and dumb, pal, I am sure it had no idea what was going on whatosever." He stubbornly shrugged off her grip, shoulders hunching in, and it was revulsion and harsh misplaced anger now that had caught in his chest, crossing his arms tightly and staring daggers into the fire, ignoring its attendee as she sat there and chewed on her crooked lips.

Willow had nothing to say, apparently, running her hands over the flames and letting the fire twirl against her skin as she finally looked away, Winona still seated next to him, not yet having moved, silent, and Maxwell glowered and boiled and felt so, so damn deeply empty that he didn't know what else to do with himself.

It didn't take long before there were footsteps coming back, trotting spider pawed claws and that telltale swish and shift of plant fibrous matter, leaves and stalks and vines, the glow of eight white eyes and a single glinting green approaching out from the darkness.

A spider whistle announced Webber, hand in hand with the twisting flora lifeform of Wormwood, but before they could speak from their opening toothy mandible jaws Wormwood spoke up first, rough grating voice twanging in the air as they tumbled forward on their wobbly plant stalk legs.

"Oh, tall friend has a small friend!" 

Wormwood garbled low, thick flicking wood whispers and the language of the trees and plants as they coiled before Maxwell, tall and then short and then finally sizing to a more normal height, vines and roots twisting and stabilizing. The living plant could be a bit slow at times, so it did take a minute for them to recognize the situation.

"Oooh...small friend dead." Wormwoods voice fell, dragged low in thick guttural creaks of sound, the glow of their gem dimming a bit, and the admittance of the fact, verbal now and spoken to the air, made Maxwell suddenly feel a bit nauseous, ill and…

It he didn't know better on what it truly felt like, he'd say he felt as if he was _in pain._

"...is alright, tall friend." Wormwoods big empty eyes leaned forward, peered at him a little too closely, and they held out their hands, unfurling leaves and showing their wooden vined palms, empty, to Maxwell. "Don't be so sad, no no. Little friend gone back to dirt now, deep sleep and rot; I help, spread seed, give warm earth warm body, flourish now."

For a moment, Maxwell actually considered saying no, a sharp spiky shot of spite and rage straight through his chest as he leaned a bit back, covering what he still had protectively.

"...Look, tall friend, look." Wormwood outstretched their arms, ran leaves over the carrats body before shifting the limp fronds of its ears and tail, gently brushing aside Maxwell's gloved hands. "See, see?"

Among the wilted remains were small stalks, even smaller batches of seed pods, ferns and tiny growing leaves, patching over too pale orange. 

It wasn't what Maxwell wanted to see, not at all, stubbornly trying to hold that thought, but Wormwoods glowing eyes were warm and friendly, jawed toothy maw open in what almost looked to be a soft smile.

"I spread seeds, bury in good earth, like I do with spider friends small friend, like I do with metal friends small friends, like I do for short friends small friend. Like I do for all small friends, give them back to old home, and give seed so to grow big and strong later." They tilted their heavy head, leaves bunched up and shifting at their movements, and Wormwood ran their leafy hand over the carrats still back. "Many birthdays, yes, many more. Maybe, tall friend, you someday meet small friends seed, become friends again like now, like before?"

The living plant slowly swayed, looked Maxwell in the eye, empty white glow to pitch black.

"I know this, yes. I see it, in every plant friend, every little seedling. All friends." Wormwoods voices creaked, rumbled low throughout their plant form as their inner gem glowed strong. "All connected, all home."

After a moment of silence, a beat of hesitance, Maxwell carefully helped ease the weight, once in his lap, to now be held in Wormwoods caring hands.

They creaked, garbled, wind through the leaves and tree tall branches in whispers incomprehensible to human ears as they stood up fully, cradling the tiny body in their arms.

They tilted their head, glowing eyes staring down at Maxwell, his shoulders hunched forward and feeling that horrid blankness settle on him once again.

"Is alright, tall friend. Everything be okay now."

And with that they were off, springing away in the twists and turns of their coiled vine and wood legs, leaves and glowing gem marking them as they bounded off into the darkness before disappearing from sight.

Maxwell watched them go, even as there was shuffling and Webber clicked and clattering and chirped, sitting right beside him as they waved their limbs, mandibles twitching in their jaws.

"...Wormwood knows all about plants and stuff, so it'll be okay."

There was movement, a weight as Webber patted his shoulder with their spider pawed claws, a low churr of a tune rising from their throat in their form of comfort.

It was enough to allow Maxwell to finally heave a sigh, pressure easing from his chest as he faintly wheezed, dropping his head down as he looked to the dirt, hands clasped together.

Whatever this was that he was feeling, he _really_ didn't like it.

"...Mister Maxwell?" Webber twittered, waited for him to raise his head and look over at them, and all their eyes blinked in synced pairs, wide white orbs and puffed up black bristles. "Did...did you ever get to name your carrat?"

"...Yes, yes I did."

When he didn't offer up anything else Webber twittered quietly, limbs twitching and waving as their claws fiddled together. He wasn't looking, but Maxwell was fairly certain Winona was watching as well, listening in quietly, but it didn't seem worth it to try and make her go away.

After a moment Webber tried again, drawing Maxwell's gaze back from the dirt and flickering flame light.

"What was its name, Mister Maxwell?"

There were any number of ways he could answer to that, and the first few were more cruel than anything else.

Thinking back now, even though he wasn't feeling much of anything at the moment, he supposed he could have called it something demeaning. An ugly creature deserved an even uglier name, didn't it? And the newly created carrats were extraordinary ugly, something he had picked up on from the beginning.

It had to have been intentional, obviously. Maxwell himself had created rather unwholesome looking abominations, with most of them being quite aggressive and dangerous.

The tallbirds, while an honest mistake, was evidence of him trying his imagination in an unlikely way.

The carrats were either a joke, or intentionally ugly critters for the survivors to ogle over. There was no point, and Maxwell most certainly, definitely did not care for them one bit.

So he could have named it something ugly. It would have fit.

Maxwell had not picked an ugly name.

"...Lepus."

Webber twittered, chirping a sing song spidery tune of sound, and clapped their clawed hands. 

"That's a good name! Lepus was a good carrat." They seemed so happy at that, pale eyes blinking in pairs as they looked up at him. "We're glad Lepus made you happy, Mister Maxwell, and we think they were happy to be with you too."

That...was not what he'd like to hear right now.

Something twisted in his chest, that blankness replaced with something else, something he has never been fond of feeling, and maybe his next exhale was a bit more stuttered than before, maybe his throat felt a bit more closed up, _maybe_ his eyes were a little more damp than before, but Maxwell had nothing to say to that.

He didn't really have to, choosing to close his eyes as Webber scooted close and there was the weight touch of Winona carefully pulling him into a one armed hug, a twittering of spider sounds, worry and concern as his shoulders shook.

Maxwell was _not_ crying, but it certainly felt like it, breathing stuttered and just not having the energy to even try to pretend he was fine, or that everything _was_ okay.

That horribly repulsive little sentient vegetable was gone, very much gone, and was not going to be coming back, and that did not…

It did not sit right on him, not at all.

"Hey, it's alright Max." 

Winona sounded sympathetic, and possibly vaguely concerned, but he kept his eyes closed and everything else shut out, he didn't need the pestering, he didn't _need_ to even try to think about some stupid 'rat and the now gaping lack of its stupid company-

"I cried when Rosie died too, and I know for a fact Willow was heartbroken when Taffy caught fire."

"Hey, you don't need to tell him that!"

There was chittering by his side, spider sound and Webber pat him on the shoulder.

"We were really sad when Pomy got eaten, and would've cried if we had been able to!"

"I had initially thought Portia was just taking a well deserved nap, but after a few days…" Wickerbottom's voice rose up as well, quiet and solemn, a pause before she continued. "...nevertheless, I had greatly appreciated her company and am still glad that I had been acquainted with her in the first place."

"Yeah!" Webber chirped, and Maxwell could feel their extra spider limbs poking him, the child doing their very best to offer comfort. "We are real glad we got to know Pomy! She was so smart and pretty, and we hope we had made her happy too!"

"Rosie was one of a kind, and for a small 'rat she had my back most days. Still a bit sad she's gone, but we had good times working together."

There was a huff, or more like a sniff by the fire, and Maxwell just barely squinted his eyes open to see Willow sitting with her legs drawn up, her chin on her knees as she looked at him with a crooked frown.

"...yeah, Taffy was pretty great too. I kind of fucked up in the end, but she stuck with me no matter what."

The woman looked away, frown somehow growing more crooked and pulled low, wiping her eyes with her sleeve as she stared back into the fire.

He supposed they were trying to cheer him up. That was what this was, right? Get him to think about that stupid carrat's life in a way that wouldn't show how incompetent they all were in keeping theirs alive.

Then again, he had sat here and watched his die. Lepus was long gone, just like every other carrat that had entered this terrible camp, with its mocking white fences pretending that there was nothing to worry about, that the Constant wouldn't ever crack down upon them, that the Queen was ever so forgiving.

It was an odd mix, to feel so much misplaced anger with whatever this other emotion was, and Maxwell might have been inclined to react badly to everything and everyone around him, at their cheap attempts and crocodile tears and the whole stupid mess of chaos and his own self destructive rage-

But then Webber twittered, spider pawed hand on his trembling shoulder, all their eyes blinking at him in a spider expression of curled limbs, puffed up bristles, and twisted chitinous facial mandibles.

"We're...we're sorry Lepus is gone now, Mister Maxwell, and we know you're sad. It's okay if you want to cry cause they're not here anymore." They let out a low spidery whistle, meeting his eye, them on one side and Winona sitting quietly on the other, still giving him a shoulder to lean on. "But it's like Wormwood said. Lepus went home, and maybe you'll get to make friends with another Lepus again someday."

The living plants knowledge and belief of the Constants ways were skewered, hard to understand or even communicate sometimes, but Webber had picked up the most basic of understanding from it. They had said Wormwood had helped talk them through their grief before, so perhaps the spider child was picking up on a few things.

They were trying to help, Maxwell recognized.

And, for one reason or another, it did.

That other feeling smothered the rage in one crashing wave through his chest. That damn little carrat was long gone now, once again part of this horrid Constant, and all it has done was sit with him most days and kept him company, especially when he went off on his own to get away from glares or tense interaction, and it had taken to his company though he had wished to abandon it in the beginning and, out of everything that ever was, the stupid thing had actually seemed content with him.

A stuttered exhale, inhale, the feeling of cracks through his tightly restrained chest, and with that Maxwell put his head into his hands and started to cry.

There were exclamations, spidery chirps and someone pulling him into a hug, but at the moment Maxwell could care less.

The camp was empty of carrats, and the races had long been brushed aside, and once more something he had grown close to, as small as it had been, was lost to him.

**Author's Note:**

> (Wormwood goes by he/him and they/them, so some survivors refer with he or them depending on the situation)


End file.
